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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24261868">They Seek Him Here</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crash_n_Burn1772/pseuds/Crash_n_Burn1772'>Crash_n_Burn1772</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Action &amp; Romance, F/M, I'm Bad At Summaries, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, Slow Burn, long time lurker first time poster</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 22:48:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,180</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24261868</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crash_n_Burn1772/pseuds/Crash_n_Burn1772</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>To decide the crown prince's bodyguard, a tournament is held. A series of duels to find the most logical choice. Unfortunately, Leonard, a simple country doctor is left to clean up the mess of it. He can handle being forced from his home, to patch up bloody disqualified participants, even deal with the ever ball  of energy of Jim, but when the mysterious masked duelist shows up bleeding on his bed. That is where he draws the line!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James T. Kirk/Nyota Uhura, Leonard "Bones" McCoy/Spock</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prolouge</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A steady clink of swords being skillfully hit against each other, filled what was normally a quiet oasis of a garden with a assortment of flowers and fountains. The two fighters had been training for quite a while as a wide array of blades lay used on a rack by one bubbling fountain. The current skirmish had been carrying on for 5 minutes, 48.32 seconds and counting with the opponents seemingly matched. They were not alone here though. Sitting quietly in the shadows, was slightly silvering Vulcan, hands folded thoughtfully in his lap, sharply eyeing the fighters, while seated beside him, was a equally poised older Terran woman, watching the skirmish with barely hidden awe at the taller fighter’s calculated movements.  <br/>“Are you certain?” she whispered quietly to her husband, eyes never leaving the blades.<br/>“Of course. It is a tradition and he will honor it.” was his reply, the words carrying the finality of a conversation that predated this moment. Calling out to the fighters “I will have you know that now is the time for your guard tournament.” The taller of the two duelists let his eyes briefly stray, only to have to parry a almost impossible blow at last second. <br/>“It was only a matter of time you would declare this, seeing as at my age you had hosted said tournament. I must…” a quick sidestep and block to avoid getting hit in the upper thigh, “…graciously decline.”<br/>The elder sat stoic, yet his wife could see the hardening of his eyes at the statement, “It is not a request. This is a royal tradition that demands you honor it.”<br/>An unpredictable advance with a false swing to the knee, the target was the instructor's sword hilt. The swing had enough force that the taller Vulcan was able to end the spar as the training sword fell into the grass. After saluting instructor, he turned to fully face his father, “Forgive me if I do not see the logic in such a tournament, when I have proven myself proficient in many forms of combat and weaponry.”  <br/>“This is not a matter of proficiency. It is a matter of tradition, and there will be no more discussion…” he stated before being interrupted, by his son, “Where is the logic in…” </p><p>“You two, do not start!” the queen blurted out, standing, hating to see her husband and son at each other’s throats, though to the non-Vulcan eye looked like a simple conversation as no fluctuation voices would give it away. Slowly making her way to stand in front of her son, she looked up with pleading blue eyes, wringing her delicate hands, “Please son. I know it seems silly but think of it this way. If you had someone equal to your skill watching over, you then it would be guaranteed no harm would come to you.”<br/> Looking down at his mother, he relaxed his vice like grip on the blade still in his hand. She was just trying to keep him and his father from getting into a more heated disagreement. Turning away to place his sword on the practice weapons rack, a sigh was almost noticeable in the crown prince's  shoulders, “Fine. If this will keep the peace in our home, then we shall proceed with the tournament…” The prince turned on his heel to face the king, hands folded behind his back, broad shoulders squared, “…on a condition that is of my own choosing.”<br/>The king raised a pointed brow to signal he was listening.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. I WILL Complain the Whole Time</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Picture if you will, a bright sunny day, a gentle breeze to keep off the late season heat. The ones that you know mother nature is giving one last blast of nice weather, before the cold and wet of fall. Fields around the house on the hill where all harvested, and you were enjoying a rare moment of down time. Sitting on the old creaking rocking chair, eyes closed, listening to wind rustle the leaves and the business sign creaking on its chains as it moved. Cool drink dripping condensation in your hand, occasionally, lifting it to the lips for a sip. This was truly the life. Quiet, no neighbors for miles, and only a handful of people coming by on business. Unfortunately, the silence was broken by the sound of hooves trotting up the dirt path to the porch, “Doctor? Are you Doctor Leonard McCoy?”  And that’s when my day went from plum dandy, to absolute horse shit.</p><p>“Oh, Doctor!” </p><p>“No! absolutely NOT!” I declared as I snatched another one of my shirts out of the simple canvas bag my longtime friend, just tried to force pack for me. Being the swift handed nurse, she is, she caught the sleeve and held it tightly still looking calm and collected, “Leonard. It is a royal summons. You can’t just ignore it.” Giving the shirt a tug in a vain attempt to pull it free I glared at her, only to have her glare back with equal ferocity, “Let go Christine, you’re going to stretch it.” She rolled her eyes, “Give me a good enough reason, and I will.” Her blue eyes twinkling as she gave the poor strangled shirt another tug, “And your reason can’t include anything about having to stay here. The letter says they are paying nicely. Not to mention this is the first time a Vulcan royalty is letting in other peoples to this event.” </p><p>“Wonderful, then they won’t need me. Plenty of other doctors to stich up the poor bastards lining up to be swiss cheese.” I huffed trying to twist the shirt out of her grip with my uncut bangs falling annoyingly in my eyes. After a handless adjustment I curled my nose at her, cause if I hadn’t thought of a good enough answer to give the royal messenger (before Christine barreled out the house screaming “He accepts”), then I certainly don’t have one now. </p><p>Knowing she had me in a box, gave the shirt a final yank that pulled it out of my grasp. Seeing how it was crinkled beyond immediate help she just set it aside, “So, now that is settled. Pack.” Christine moves to glance out the window to see where the Vulcan messenger stood tending to his horses, slightly twirling a loose curl of blonde hair in those (oddly strong) slender fingers. “We shouldn’t keep the poor soul waiting.” She said just above a whisper. Now was my turn to roll my eyes, at least she is not like this when they come in as patients. Safe to say the girl had a type, wicked smart, green blooded and demeanor like a cold brick in winter. </p><p>My room was trashed no man’s land after the aggressive packing/unpacking war, but I found what I needed and was packed, worn tan coat on my back and a sign on the door for any one coming around needing me, and heatedly trudging to the front door in fifteen minutes. This was ridiculous, and I didn’t spare anyone my protests. Not Christine, not Squinn the royal messenger, not even the poor horses puling the carriage to take us to Shirkar. Everyone was going to know, that I Leonard H. McCoy was going, but I’m not going to be happy about it! Sure the letter said there would be someone to man the place, as well as it was only going to be for a few weeks, but I couldn’t feel a slight pang as my little slice of heaven, for the few months I had it, disappear slowly in the distance. </p><p>“Seriously? Not even out of view, and you look like your saying goodbye forever.” Christine mused a romance novel opened in her lap. Took some effort to not snap back, because she did have a point, I was slumped so far down in my seat I could smell my boots and had my head propped against the carriage window. Not to mention I hadn’t bothered to cut my hair or shave since…well an awhile. In short, I was a damn pathetic looking mess. Trying to gain some dignity, I scooted up in my seat causing the cushioned seat to squeak, “So…whatcha reading?” She didn’t look up from her book but pulled another out of her bag and handing it to me, “Brought you one too Doctor.”<br/>With a huff I took the well-worn book, in black faded letters it said, ‘The Violet Columbine’ with a sketch of a masked man posed with a sword on the front. “Seriously?” I muttered but given how it was going to be at least two days travel, I figured I’d give the book at least two chapters…which turned into five…then I was hopelessly lost. </p><p>A group of people who believed that anarchy what the best way to fix government are killing everyone who was royal, but there was this man swooping in last minute to rescue the poor bastards from execution. Like the man would literally come out of nowhere and cut the people loose. Then wisp them off to safety like a damn ghost.  No one knows who he is, but he seems to have a fascination with a woman who is higher class, but not royal. I’m only going to say one thing about the Violet Columbine…was that boy could say things so smoothly, it’d make even a Klingon get a little hot under the collar. When Christine asked if I was enjoying it, my face a inch from the pages, which I could feel my face getting red and I told her to hush. But with Mr. Masked-Charming, those two days went by like nothing. Probably read the poor book twice and working on a third go around. No wonder it was already so worn, it wasn’t just a book, it was mystery, action…romance… and damn it was good. </p><p> </p><p>It took the hum of people and a lurch of the carriage for me to tear myself away from the story. We had made it to Shirkar, the capital city ruled by the House of Sarek. It was a clean city surprisingly. No litter in the streets, special walks off to the side of roads so no one was blocking the carriages or wagons. The buildings where made from big polished slabs of dessert stone, and colored glass windows. Every store had the same banner hanging from it as we passed, which I’m a doctor not a linguist, so I didn’t really care about what they said. Christine and I gushed over the colors of passerby’s clothes, and how poise Vulcan society was, but it seemed we were headed to a more worn side of town. The stone buildings had more cracks in the walls, with everything and everyone look more tired, but not the disgusting filth of a Terran slum.<br/> “They decided to put us in the Vulcan ghetto.” I chuckled, but, Squinn stopped the carriage and I about hit the floor. Coming to the door he stated, “This is the designated residences for the medical personnel.” Upon seeing me still on the floor of the carriage he opened the door, to give me more room to scramble to save my dignity. I quickly grabbed my bag and book before exiting. Stepping out into the bright sun, one almost would hiss and dart back into the dark carriage…but that wasn’t going to be me…nope…but good Lord its bright. Christine, ever the lady, shoved me out of the way to get some last-minute flirting with the poor Vulcan. “Are you saying that all of the doctors are going to be living in such a small place?” she asked batting her big blue eyes at a completely unphased Squinn. </p><p>Raising his hand, he steadily motioned to the building across the street, “Of course not. Another building is positioned across the street, as the hotels and inns closer to the city’s center have become occupied with tourist and early participants.” he explained dryly, before handing me a nicely rolled scroll with a silver ribbon tied around it, and on said ribbon where two gold triangles with the bottom points pulled down a little further. Almost like five pointed stars, but without the horizontal arms, while in the middle of one was a circle looped overlapping another, while the second had just a simple cross in the middle. </p><p>“The Prince thought it logical that all doctors recruited for the tournament be given a map of the city. On it you will find all the medical facilities marked, as well as your badges. Wear them always as they symbolize you are Terran medical experts. Other doctors will have their respected badges as well.” After pointing us in the direction of our place, Squinn wished us well and without much ceremony he gracefully hopped into the driver seat of the carriage and drove off. </p><p>‘The Enterprise’ was not necessarily a complete hole in the wall, but more like a dent. The old wooden sign with it bright read painted letters hanging by the entrance was the only indication that is was even a place of business. Other than that, it could have been another old building in a group of other worn buildings, with no window front like the ones on the main drag of the town had. Inside was small, and dark, being that no natural light had a chance of getting in and the only light was from tiny lanterns mounted on twisted metal holders fastened to the walls. A handful of heavy wooden tables and mismatched chairs where placed in no certain order with mostly humans seated speaking quietly in groups. </p><p>“Ah! Welcome. I be righ  with ya folks!” a man carrying a tray of pints to a noisy table called over to us in a thick accent. </p><p>“No worries.” I called back, “Well, Ms. Chapel. I guess we are going to have to wait.” She sighed in agreement, and we found an empty table to sit at. Once seated I set the scroll on the table and ran my fingers over our badges letting the smooth gold metal slide over my fingers. The owner sure was proud of the area in the Terran nation he was from. The flag was hanging over the bar and on the wall that was closest to the door. A large light blue flag with a big white X cutting through it. <br/>“This place is…quaint.” Christine commented sounding not so thrilled, even going as far as trying to wipe off the table with her handkerchief, “It seems well loved.” I couldn’t agree more with her, it was a cozy place with a lot of wear and tear. Loved it.<br/>As we watched the only full table go into another fit of loud laughter. A man with sandy brown hair and dressed in a simple white collared shirt and bright yellow vest was at the center of attention made eye contact with me. Quickly I look away, hoping he wasn’t one of those people that would start a fight with just a glance, because I only had my 6-foot one height to use for intimidation. Granted, I could hold my own…maybe, but it’s usually not the smartest to try to fisticuff a man that has a sword on his hip.</p><p>“Whot can I do fer ya?” the man that greeted us said as he approached the table. “We may not look it, bu we got a nice selection of anything you’d need. Whiskey, homemade scotch, wines?”<br/>“Do you happen to know where the owner is? Apparently, we are supposed to be staying here.” I said sort of craning my head around the short redhead to see what he had at the bar. Which if he noticed, it didn’t bother him, because he stuck out his hand to shake mine warmly <br/>“In luck you are. As that man, is me. Meaning that you would be Dr. McCoy and his assistant…?” leaving the question open to Christine with a friendly smile. </p><p>“Nurse Christine Chapel, a pleasure to meet you.” She smiled back to him holding out a hand to gently shake his. “Montgomery Scott, at your service. You must be tired. I’ll get yer room keys. Any drinks I could bring while I’m at it?” We both shook our heads politely. With that he hurried off to behind the bar. Not even a second later the man in the yellow vest sat in a seat at our table, pint in hand. </p><p>“In town for the tournament?” he beamed, his ice blue eyes looking both Christine and I over. <br/>I frowned, “No. we are local. Can’t you tell by my pointed ears, and her green skin.” Dramatically I brushed my hair away from my round ears and motioned to Christine’s pale face with rosy cheeks. Now with the bitterness in my voice, most people would get the hint and leave, or even find me rude but this guy just laughed as if I had just told a joke.<br/> “That’s fair.” he chuckled taking swig of his drink, “I’m ‘local’ too. Just got into town yesterday, but sorry if I couldn’t help but hear you are staying at the Enterprise. Since this place isn’t so big, I thought I’d say hi.”</p><p>“Greetings, salutations, and all that other trash...” I snapped, before a sharp pain in my shin shut me up. </p><p>“Dr. McCoy.” Christine hissed, before switching her voice to her sweet bedside manner tone “I apologize. This trip was so sudden I suppose the doctor forgot to pack his manners.”<br/>A cocky smile was our response as the stranger didn’t even look offended. In fact, he looked like he was amused by it all and made himself comfortable, by setting back in his chair with a cocky lean to the left to match the smile, “A doctor. From what I heard about this tournament, once it starts, you’re going to be busy. Let…” </p><p>“Sorry bout, that. Here ya go. Lads with lads, lassies with lassies, only got four rooms. The door number is scraped on the key.” Seeing this as an opportunity to escape this slightly irritating man, I jumped up to grab the key from Mr. Scott, “Lead the way, I’m hankering for some sleep. It was nice to meet you.” <br/>“Kirk. James T. Kirk.” He beamed from his seat. Cheeky bastard. It was a statement, not a question. But to avoid another assault from Christine I managed a descent goodbye. </p><p> </p><p>Mr. Scott lead us up a set of questionably stable stairs that creaked like the wood itself was alive and screaming. The top of the stairs was a narrow doorway, which the hem of nurse Chapel’s favorite powder blue dress, found out, had a couple nails sticking out of it. The hall on the other side of the door wasn’t much better, if anything it was a barely lit hall with doors on both sides and poorly painted numbers on the doors. After a brief rundown of where the bath house is and toilet the short redhead man headed back down the stairs with a friendly reminder that he’ll help in any way he can. Well he helped me find a bed, and that’s good enough for me. Darting into the room and locking the door behind me, I could really the feel the exhaustion of the last two or so days wash over me, and I heard nothing, saw nothing except and empty bed in the far corner. I only bothered to drop my stuff by the foot of said bed and tear off my overcoat and vest before dropping heavily on the mattress.</p><p>It only felt like I was asleep for a few seconds, before a sound of a key in the lock stirred me, when Mr. Scott said that he had four rooms to lend I knew it meant I’d be sharing, so I wasn’t too worried and tried to fall back asleep. It was working, that is until I heard an achingly familiar voice say, “Well, hello again, Doctor.” </p><p>My whole body tensed. No! Oh no no no no. NO. Not him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Welp, here we are. Chapter 2. I really hoped you enjoyed it, this is going to be a long one...but hopefully not obnoxiously long...  if there is any questions or comments, please let me know, cause I want this story to be the best it can! Thanks!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Hair on Fire and Ass is Catching</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Oh no no. Not black, brother.” the bearded Vulcan groaned as he came up behind him. Opting to speak to his brother’s reflection in the mirror, the young prince raised a brow, “Have I not requested that you ask permission to enter my quarters?”</p><p>“Spock. When have I ever listened to you?” he smirked before swiftly stepping away from the mirror and towards the wardrobe to rummage through the array of vests, trousers, and over coats. <br/>“…black…grey…black, and oh! What is this? Dark blue!” Bringing vest to the window to look at it in direct sunlight, Sybok scoffed,” Black.”, throwing it onto Spock’s bed, where it landed on the royal pet selhat. Spock turned to watch his older brother violate his privacy yet again, “Sybok, may I inquire as to why my current selection is inadequate?” </p><p>It was a standard white shirt, over it was a silk black vest with subtle ivy vines detailing the front, his coat was a black velvet with the iconic silver embroidery that Vulcan was known for, and a silk black tie. Vulcans believed it was logical to look well groomed, as a well-cared for body helps with a cared for mind, but embarrassment from vanity was not logical.  Then again, if Spock knew anything about Sybok, is that the normal rules of logic that drove Vulcans, seemed to have skipped him. </p><p>“You always wear black Spock! Today is an important day. Your opening ceremony to your guard tournament.” Sybok gestured at the wardrobe, annoyed at his brother’s lack of color choices, “Since you wanted different peoples here, do you not think it would be best to impress them a little.”  Spock quirked a brow, not going to take the bait. With a grunt of defeat Sybok scratched his beard, “I’ll have to make a note to get you something that is out of the spectrum of a dog’s vision…unless…”</p><p>“My vision is exceptional. Canines do in fact seen certain brighter hues,” Spock stated pulling the vest off poor confused selhat, her bear sized body curled on the prince’s bed, looking very comfortable. She purred at his approach and pressed her huge soft head into his hand for ear rubs. Sybok knew the selhat didn’t really like him, so kept a respectful distance, “Then you should, perhaps act like it. Or at the very least acknowledge those ‘hues’. Plus, didn’t our father tell you repeatedly that I’ Chaya is not allowed on the furniture?”</p><p> “I have observed, that in her older age, when she sleeps on her designated mats, her movements are quite stiff.” I’Chaya looked fondly at Spock, while inching her silvering muzzle to try to sneak lick his face but being careful so her six-inch fangs wouldn’t scratch Spock “Therefore, when allowed to rest in a bed, her movements improve.”</p><p>Sybok smiled at the statement, because despite all his little brother’s claims to being Vulcan, and in turn void of emotion, he always had seemed to display emotions in the way of actions. He nodded before walking out if his brother’s room and making it clear that Spock was to wait for him to come back.</p><p>Absently, Spock rubbed the soft spot behind the sehlat’s coarse sandy brown ears, “He is quite illogical, do you not agree? Then again, that is how I have always remembered him.” I’Chaya only purred louder, before licking the whole side of the Prince’s face, causing his normally straight bangs to swoop to the side. Whipping off his face with the sleeve of his shirt, the clock in the corner of his quarters began to chime noon.     NOON?! </p><p>He was going to be late, and punctuality was certainly something Sarek demanded from his family. Giving the bear-sized beast one last scratch under the chin, telling her goodbye, Spock grabbed his black overcoat and hurried to the stables. Within minutes Spock had his favorite gelding Sko, saddled and was about to swing himself up, when he heard Sybok calling for him as he ran across the courtyard, a rich purple coat slung over his arm. </p><p>“As I appreciate the gesture brother, this is truly not the time for this discussion as we are late.”  Sybok grabbed the horses bridle aggressively as if to keep Spock there and huffed, “You will wait for me, Spock. What is Sarek going to do if we are late really? Ground us? Make us stay in our rooms and work on advanced mathematics like when we where kids?” Spock lifted his brow at Sybok’s aggression, but mounted the horse anyway, warning him that he will only wait a moment as he had asked a someone to prepare Sybok’s horse.</p><p>A stable hand leads out Sybok’s prized mare Desdemona. He released Sko seeming satisfied by the shiny black mare being ready for her rider and swung himself up still holding the coat. “Care for a race Spock?” he smiled mischievously, all anger seeming to leave his body. Spock looked down at his brother slightly, as Sko, was taller than Desdemona, “You have poor judgement in a horse’s speed, surefootedness, to opt out for aesthetic…Sybok!” Spock shouted, as Sybock was gone, this cream white coat flapping in the winds while spurring his horse into a run leaving his little brother behind. </p><p>Though Spock would never admit it, he felt a thrill as he and Sko chased Sybok down. The power of the horse’s stride, the wind in his face, tails of his coat flying behind him, even through his gloves he could feel the reins pulling in his hands, as Sko begged to go faster. The princes barreled into town in a matter of minutes neither bothering to slow down, as they were neck and neck. Quite a sight, black and white streaking past, one stoic the other laughing wildly, tall blue-grey horse steadily pulling ahead and the shorter black horse fighting to keep the pace. Secretly, Spock wished that this feeling could last, only to have to suddenly rip back on the reins as someone strode out into the street then was tackled out of the way by someone else. Sybok was a fair distance up the road now, with no sign of him stopping leaving, Spock to handle the aftermath. This was nothing new, as the oldest prince had always left his brother to take the punishment for him.</p><p>Getting Sko to stop, Spock patted and spoke soothingly to calm the horse’s still dancing feet, even though the dapple was upset about not being allowed to run anymore, he let his rider dismount. “Is anyone injured?” <br/>The man who wondered into the road whipped his head around bright blue eyes stormy, “Alright? Alright!” the man got to his feet and pushed away the person that had saved him and the lady who had ran to his side, before stomping over to get in Spock’s face, “What the ever-loving hell is wrong with you?! Y’all come blazing through like your hair is on fire and your damn ass is catching! Do you know how many people could have been actually hurt?” The prince had never been spoken to like this in his entire life, but he was aware of how in the wrong he was. Taking in the man’s bright blue eyes, rough looking beard and hair, Spock found himself curious but all he could manage was, “it would be illogical for one to run if one’s entire backside was ablaze.” </p><p>The man looked enraged by this, but was pulled away by the man in yellow, “Come on Bones. Didn’t you say you wanted to be there to meet with the other doctors?” ‘Bones’ struggled against his friend who was stronger, his voice getting farther way as he was being pulled away “Screw that shit! What gives you the nerve to assassinate poor passersby...”? The lady smiled apologetically at Spock for her friend’s behavior. Nodding to her before turning back to Sko, he was almost certain he felt eyes linger on his back as he mounted his horse again. Though when he turned to check, the trio was already turning down an alley.<br/>Setting off again in a quick trot Spock headed for the center of town, knowing that Sybok was already there, the speech he had to give to the participants was going to be tedious, and worst of all his father will lecture him for every minute he’s tardy. “This will prove…fascinating.” He muttered to his horse.</p><p>It was only by five minutes and 15.25 seconds, but to King Sarek, it was unacceptable. This kind of tardiness he expected from Sybok, who seemed to go completely out of his way to try to anger his father. The younger son held to rules and schedules better, having him hold to tradition was a issue. A gentle gloved hand was placed in his arm pulling the king out of his thoughts. Queen Amanda offered a sly smile to her husband, “He’ll be here. You should be careful; one might think you are starting to look…irritated.” She teased. </p><p>“My dear. That would be illogical. The delayment of Spock’s speech at the ceremony could cause unrest in those that attend. Especially, as you are aware, the Klingon attendants.” <br/>Amanda’s smile remained, as she was going to retort, but the quick approach of feet, and shouting made her forget whatever it was she was going to say as her son and stepson came barreling up the steps. <br/>“Do not touch me!” Spock batted Sybok’s hand from his hair, while Sybok was trying too “style” it and in the other hand he clutched a purple silk overcoat. The queen sighed heavily, having become used to playing peacemaker in her family. She called off the older prince in order to take his place in front of her son, to fix his pitch-black windblown bangs to lay flat on his forehead, as was the standard Vulcan hairstyle. Sybok huffed and pushed the coat at Spock, “Wear it! We are roughly the same damn size, so just wear it!” </p><p>“As I stated before. It is appreciated, yet unnecessary.” His little brother added a bit of hardness to his tone hinting to Amanda that her son was suppressing anger. She made a note to ask him about it later. From his place by the curtain Sarek watched the princes before stating that he was to start the opening ceremony, and the rest where welcome to join him, before pushing back the curtains to step through. <br/>The Vulcan king stood on the stage looking out over the crowd of people. Most where Vulcan, right by the stage was a cluster of Klignons looking impatient, scattered through the crowd where humans in various groupings, and a few bright blue Andorians stood more towards the back. Waiting another moment, he raised a hand to shush the crowd, “It is a honor to welcome everyone to Shikar. Especially on this, the eve of the Royal Guard Tournament. For those unfamiliar, I am King Sarek, head of the House of Saerk.  My family…” the Queen stepped forward to touch her two fingers to her husband’s waiting ones, smiling brightly and Prince Sybok emerged to stand respectfully on the side of the king, “…wishes you all find you stay adequate. For those of you who are new to Vulcan mannerisms, we do not add flourish to our words, and prefer to be direct.” He paused as his heard the Klingons chuckle rather loudly that Vulcans are as dry as the desert mountain from which the originally hail. “So, I will allow my heir, Prince Spock, present the rules of the tournament as many are new to this custom.” </p><p>With that Spock stepped forward from the curtain to a sea of uncustomary applause. The Vulcans in the audience waited patiently, as the other guests clapped or stomped to show approval. “As is in the times of old, dating back to the days of Vulcan savagery. It was important to have someone at your side. Someone to protect you from dangers as you protect them. This is the basis of the Tournament.” A Klingon scoffed that Vulcans should be wild again then. Spock ignored their booming laughter and continued, “It is through this tournament we honor the spirit of brotherhood, by the demonstration of combat. The tournament will traditionally last for two weeks. Seeing as there are more participants than in the past, the Tournament shall go on as long as necessary. Each participant will receive a number each week. There is a week to find said opponents opposed to the original three days. Any form of combat is accepted, so long as no projectiles, such as guns are used. Fights can either be to the death, or to the yield….” <br/>He continued on about how a signed witness as both numbers must be turned in to be a added to the next round, casually scanning over the crowd a pair of bright blue eyes accompanied by scruffy brown hair with matching beard stared back at him wide eyed and looking slightly nauseous. The sight of the man that had yelled at him earlier cause the Vulcan prince to stutter slightly, “…doc…doctors watching…I mean…there…are many temporary hospitals have been set up around the city to be of service to the duelists.” </p><p>The man in yellow leaned over to whisper into Bones’ ear, and got aggressive whispering as a response, as he rattled off the rules, Spock couldn’t help but wonder what they were talking about. Though he didn’t have much longer to wonder as Sybok stepped to up to tell his brother that all the duel numbers where finished being passed out. Spock nodded slightly to finally address the scrolls, “Duelists, the scrolls you have received upon register is your opponent. As I stated there is one week to find said opponent, turn in both scrolls and have them signed with a witness to have it considered valid.” Most of the participants had unrolled the tiny scrolls and those who had waited finally opened theirs. “This concludes the…” </p><p>A flash of silver caught his attention as people scattered in shock. More towards the back stood a man with black hair posed with the stance of a professional had blocked a surprise attack, of a Andorian smiling wildly. Spock made a move to jump off the stage to stop them but Sarek stated coldly, “There are no rules against this, but should things get out of hand the guards are ready.” So, he was left to do nothing but watch. The two circled each other for a moment, with the Andorian giving test jabs to test the human, who reciprocated with simple parries. The Klingons cheered, as if this was the only entertainment they have seen in years. Despite the suspense that had built between the duelists, it was over in seconds. The Andorian charged at his opponent only to have him step out of the way at the last second and put his blade smoothly through the bright blue skin of his opponent’s sword arm. The Andorian cried out, his alarm bleeding profusely, yet he grabbed the blade with his other arm to swing it. The man was ready and almost too easily knocked the blade out of his hand. </p><p>“Yield.” the Terran said calmly despite having been surprise attacked. The sword’s point was inches from the Andorian’s throat. His own sword had skittered to the feet of onlookers. Ducking away from the sword’s tip, he lunged to the fallen blade. Coming up slightly short of the discarded weapon, fortunately, it was just in reach.  Though as he reached out his hand was ran through like a hot knife through butter. Screaming he reached with his bleeding arm, which was heavily stepped on. <br/> “Come now, don’t embarrass yourself more than you have to. Yield.” The swordsman said in a smooth low voice, grinning triumphantly. Not being the type of people to give up the pale-blue man gritted his teeth and tried to free himself. White flash of pain blurred his vision as the sword in his hand was twisted in steady circles. The pain was too much, and he lowered his head in defeat, “I…I yield.” The words sounding heavy in his throat. </p><p>And just like that, the man removed his blade, was handed over the scroll and it was signed by a crowd member. The Klingons booed at how short the fight was, the humans congratulated the first victor of the Tournament, and the Vulcans in the crowd quietly shared their analysis of the fight. carried the defeated to a hospital area, showing obvious disgust at the wounded.</p><p>“This certainly, won’t be a dull event.” Amanda commented quietly. Spock finally found the blue-eyed man and his friends in the slowly dispersing crowd. He curled a hand around the paper in his pocket, “I concur.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>We are rolling now folks. Lets hope that this helped explain how the tournament will work. If not, just let me know. Thanks!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sup everyone. If you made it this far then, HOLY SHIT THANK YOU SO MUCH! Hopefully its not obvious that this is the first fanfic that I've ever posted. If it is obvious, then just let me know. Any and all feedback is appreciated.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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